


Stars in Our Pockets

by debwalsh



Series: Magic Written in the Stars [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fandom Trumps Hate, M/M, Modern Bucky Barnes, Modern Steve Rogers, Mutual Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 14:26:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18284120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debwalsh/pseuds/debwalsh
Summary: Steve Rogers died.  There was a funeral, mourning, a heart breaking, a love never admitted, and a friend devastated by loss.  Ten years later, Bucky Barnes finds himself guardian to his little sister when their parents die, starting a new job in a quaint New England town, and seriously questioning his sanity when he swears he sees Steve Rogers – all grown up, big and healthy – arranging teas in the window of an apothecary shop.  Steve is dead, right?  Steve was small, right?  Then why do those blue eyes suddenly find him, and widen in recognition?My Fandom Trumps Hate 2019 story for kiaraaine, to benefit the Center for Public Integrity. Thank you so much for your support and your great prompt!





	Stars in Our Pockets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiaraaine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiaraaine/gifts).



> This is a story I’ve been wanting to write for a long while, so I was thrilled when kiaraaine decided they liked this prompt for their Fandom Trumps Hate story. It’s been a joy writing this story and working with kiaraaine.

They say that any kind of change is stressful - bad change, good change, it still exacts a toll.  But when all you know is change after change after change, most of it painful and scary and not at all what you’ve prepared yourself for, stress becomes your constant companion, perhaps the only thing that doesn’t change in the days that follow.   
  
For Dr. James B. Barnes, change came in the form of losing both parents suddenly to a home invasion that thankfully didn’t include his younger sister, having to cross the country to come back to New York to take custody of said younger sister, finding himself back in the city he’d left as soon as he could ten years earlier, getting the job offer of a lifetime and finding himself moving himself and his sister to a new town in a new state, all in the space of less than a month.   
  
To say that he was beyond stressed was an understatement.  But he looked at his sister, and he was awestruck by her grace, her patience, her resilience.  And he figured if she could do it, there was no reason why he couldn’t, too,   
  
There was money for both of them, even as the bulk of their parents’ estate had to go through probate.  He’d already had a successful career, and had his own funds, of course. The new job came with a furnished rental in the little town that was basically a company town to Stark Industries.     
  
So he helped Becca pack up what she wanted from the house, held her when she broke down and cried, and took her shopping to replace the things she couldn’t bear to touch in the house where their parents died.     
  
Then Bucky arranged for movers to pack up their parents’ stuff to move it to storage nearby.  Afterward, the lawyer would take care of putting it on the market. His own place in California was a condo shared with two friends, Nat and Clint.  He didn’t have much of his own, so they had kindly offered to pack up his stuff and have it shipped east. They’d follow later to help him and Becca settle in, but he knew that part of his life was over.  The two most important people in his life, after Becca and his folks, and they were destined to drift out of it now that he’d be living on the opposite coast.   
  
Just one more change to deal with.   
  
So, with the logistics under control, he and Becca drove up to the little town of Hawthorne Village, Massachusetts to check out their new lives.   
  
&&&   
  
Hawthorne Village was a sleepy little New England town perched on the coast north of Boston.  Like many quaint towns along the North Shore, Hawthorne Village could trace its lineage back to the 1600s and the early settlers of the Massachusetts Colony. Set a little inland, it embraced its past and its history as an artists colony and artisan enclave, offering a small museum, many shops, numerous galleries and ateliers, and several outstanding bars and restaurants.  Parking was always a premium, since the streets allowed on-street parking on one side only, and in the town center, the roadway had been given over to a pedestrian walking zone. It was good for business, allowing tourists to leisurely stroll from shop to shop without fear of being clipped by a Massachusetts driver - Massholes, as they were sometimes known.    
  
As Bucky drove through the edge of the town center, seeing the picaresque storefronts, the carefully tended green spaces, the wrought iron street lights, even an old iron hitching post or two, he found himself looking forward to putting down new roots in a place that spoke of permanence, of community.  He’d miss his life in California, just as he’d missed his childhood in Brooklyn. But with all that had happened, some solid ground under his feet sounded welcome, an opportunity to start fresh. The fact that he also saw several couples of the same gender wandering the village green, hand in hand, only cemented the sense that this was somewhere he wanted to be.  Somewhere he and Becca could build a new life.   
  
It was late August, and the day that had started off as sticky and sweltering in Brooklyn was kissed by a cool ocean breeze, redolent of salt and sun and the promise of evenings crowned by a wave of fireflies and moonlight.   
  
Bucky shook his head, smiling at himself.  He was a scientist, an engineer. He liked his fantasy on his tablet and his television.  He hadn’t harbored any fantastical thoughts about his life since ... well, not in a long time.   
  
Ten years, to be exact.  The anniversary was coming up soon, and he felt a pang that this year, he wouldn’t have Nat and Clint around to help him through it.  Well, here he was at the cusp of a new life. Maybe it was time to let that go, too.   
  
He glanced over at Becca and smiled.  She looked back at him with eyes alight with curiosity and excitement.     
  
Here’s to your new life, Bucky Barnes.  Time to make the best of it.   
  
&&&   
  
“This is all ours?” Becca demanded breathily, her voice laced with awe.   
  
Bucky stood next to her on the front walk and stared down at the keys in his hand.  They’d checked in at Stark Industries first, to fill out paperwork and get the keys to their Stark rental.  He’d walked out of Maria Hill’s office with a new badge, a brand new StarkPhone, the latest StarkPad, plus tech for Becca, a jam-packed schedule that began next week, the keys to the house, and a StarkCard to which he was expected to charge any and all expenses - food, furniture, new wardrobe, even porn if that floated his boat.   
  
That last came from the man himself, one Anthony Edward Stark, the never relaxing live wire of a genius inventor ex-playboy philanthropist who’d inherited the company and turned it from a war machine to the world’s premiere firm for robotics and medical instrumentation.   
  
“You’re kidding, right?” Bucky had asked, nervously glancing through the transparent partition to where his kid sister sat in the waiting area, enjoying the complimentary espresso, wi-fi, and Netflix.   
  
“He’s really not,” Maria Hill had corrected with a slightly sour expression.   
  
“I’m really not.  The card is meant to cover all your life expenses.  Porn is a necessary life expense.”   
  
“I’m, uh, I’m not really. Well, I’m not really into it.  Porn, I mean.”   
  
Tony looked at him and blinked slowly.  Then a smile spread across his features, and he nodded to himself, apparently satisfied with the candor of Bucky’s answer.  “Well, then. Whatever makes you happy. That’s what you use the card for.”   
  
“Isn’t all this what my salary should pay for?”   
  
“Why?”   
  
“Why ... what?”   
  
“You’re paying for everything, and I’m still getting the salary we discussed?”   
  
“Why, you want more?  Give him more, Hill. 50% do it?”   
  
“Uh -“   
  
“That your kid out there?”   
  
“Sister.  Kid sister.  She’s ... she’s an orphan now, I guess.  Our folks ... well, they died recently. I’m her guardian.  That a problem?”   
  
“Sorry for your loss. And you liked your parents, right?  Yeah, I’m sorry. But your sister. She’s got her whole life ahead of her. And she’s gonna go to college, right?  We’re paying. Full ride. She as smart as you?”   
  
“Smarter.”   
  
“If she wants it, she can start interning here whenever the school says it’s okay.  We don’t break child labor laws, but we offer great experience, superior counseling, education, and an exciting career path if she’s interested.  And a stipend, of course. Kids need to have their own cash, right? Pocket change. Grand a week to start. That okay with you?”   
  
“I, uh -“   
  
“Okay.  Hill, double the offer.  Him and the kid. Geeze, Barnes, you drive a hard bargain!  Remind me to put you on the negotiations next time we re-up with NIH.  We done here now? We’re done here. Welcome to the family, Barnes. We’re gonna do great things together.”   
  
And then he was gone in the whirlwind that had blown him into Maria Hill’s office.  Bucky watched him blow toward Becca, introduce himself, and leave her standing there with her mouth hanging open and the most beautiful smile he’d seen on her face since he could remember.   
  
“Uh -“   
  
“I’d say you get used to it, but I’ve worked with him for ten years, and he still catches me by surprise.  Frustrates the hell out of me, too. But he means every word he says. So, twice the offer okay with you? Plus all your expenses paid by SI, including your sister’s college tuition - room and board, too.”   
  
“And the catch?”   
  
“The what?”   
  
“The catch.  There has to be something.  I have to sign my life away, promise you my first born child, sign a pact with the devil -“   
  
“None of those things.  Do your best as long as you work at SI.  Be ethical, be honest, be your best. That’s it.”   
  
“Really?”   
  
“Really.  Now, you’ve got a week to get settled in.  You’ll be expected to hit the ground running when you start next Monday.  You’ve already been assigned to a project team and all the schematics and reports are on your StarkPad.  Put aside some time to get yourself up to speed. And a word of warning about working with Tony Stark.”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“Question everything.  Never accept anything because that’s the way it’s done. Bring your curiosity to the table, and you’ll do fine.”   
  
Bucky huffed a laugh.  Should he worry that this was too good to be true?  He looked out at Becca, who was now practically vibrating with excitement.   
  
He’d take it.  And he’d pay whatever price required of him to see her that happy.   
  
“Welcome to Stark Industries, Dr. Barnes.”   
  
&&&   
  
And now they stood in the comfortable living room of their house in Hawthorne Village.  The house itself was a single family dating back to the early part of the 20th century, New England granite, leaded stained glass transom windows, deep-set windows with an inviting window seat that caught the sun for a good part of the afternoon, dark woods, gleaming floors, and creamy walls.   
  
The furniture was old, sturdy, lived in, and welcoming.   
  
“We get to live here?”   
  
Bucky nodded.   
  
“Did you have to sign anything in blood or anything, Buck?”   
  
Bucky had to smile at the question.  He’d wondered the same thing. But everything he’d read up on Stark led him to believe this was for real.  It wasn’t easy to catch the eye of Tony Stark, but if you did ... well, you could be set for life doing what you loved, in an environment specifically designed to help you excel.   
  
“Nope.  Just gotta do my best.  Just like you. Now, why don’t you go ahead and pick your bedroom, huh?  Then you can help me unpack the car.”   
  
She grinned brightly at him, the sun bursting out from behind a cloud.  She bounded over and kissed him on the cheek, and then took off up the stairs like an ungainly bird, all legs and flapping arms.   
  
He stood in the living room, glancing around him with a sense of rightness, of things falling into their rightful place.  In the past ten years, he’d had twinges of that sensation, like teasers from the universe. But here, now ... “I think we’re gonna be okay, Ma, Dad.  Just check in on us once in a while, huh?”   
  
He imagined the sense of lips pressing against his forehead then.  It had to be imagination, because of course it couldn’t be ... No, it was a ghost of a memory of Ma’s kiss she’d gift him, benediction and declaration at the same time.  He felt an almost overwhelming sense of grief, of time missed, and then warmth suffused his whole body, like a full body embrace. It left him feeling settled, at ease, whole.  Loved.   
  
He shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  His imagination. But he’d take it for the gift it was.   
  
“Love you, too,” he whispered, and started up the stairs behind his sister.  He needed to pick a bedroom, too.   
  
&&&   
  
The kitchen was fully stocked.  Not just plates and utensils. Not just pots and pans.  Food. Staples. Fruit, vegetables, prime cuts of meat, gourmet coffee.  And a Michelin level kitchen. Becca and Bucky stared at it in dismay.   
  
“I guess one of us is going to have to learn to cook, huh?” Becca said, her eyes wide and her mouth turned down in a worried grimace.   
  
“Not tonight, we aren’t.  I’ll start learning tomorrow.  There are plenty of places to eat off the square.  What’re you in the mood for?”   
  
“Greasy diner.”   
  
“Works for me.”   
  
And that’s how they found themselves at Cartinelli’s, hungrily poring over the extensive and delicious sounding menu.   
  
“You can order regular meals, or if you wanna just try stuff, we can do small plates of a bunch of items.  Lotsa new people go the small plate route - gives ya a chance to sample without wasting food. Whaddya think?”   
  
“I think I want one of everything!” Becca announced excitedly.   
  
“Easy sugar!  What’s got your eye, huh?  I can recommend good pairings, get the best bang for  your taste buds.”   
  
And so began the great friendship between Angie Martinelli and Becca Barnes, as they put their heads together to plan a feast for one, while Bucky sat back in his seat and watched them fondly.   
  
They’d barely been in Hawthorne Village 12 hours, and it already felt more like home than Brooklyn had the past ten years, even before.  And he’d loved growing up in Brooklyn. He never would’ve left if it hadn’t been ... well. He was here now, and here looked to be right where he belonged.   
  
“You’ll do just fine,” a cultured British voice said from behind him, and he whirled around in his seat to look up into the face of a beautiful older woman, creamy skin and deep red lipstick, bright inquisitive eyes and softly waving brown hair threaded with silver.  She smiled down at him. “It takes some getting used to, coming here from the outside world. But if this is where you belong, you’ll do fine. And it’s already clear that this is where you’ve always meant to be.”   
  
“I, uh, thanks,” he said, his own mouth twitching into a smile.    
  
“Sorry, where are my manners?  Peggy Carter - the ‘Cart’ in Cartinelli.  Angie’s my wife. Martinelli. And it looks like she’s got a new best friend.  Having a good time, darling?”   
  
“The best.  Hey, Buck, okay if Becca here comes in after school to do her studying? We got a great bunch of kids who use the study nook every day,” she added, nodding toward a corner of the diner lined with bookcases, long tables like in a library, and many comfortable looking chairs.   
  
“Buck?”   
  
“That’s what Bex calls you.  We’re family now, so you’re Buck.  I’m Ange. And that’s Pegs, my one and only.”   
  
“Bex?”   
  
“I like it.”   
  
“I do, too.  Well, if that’s what Bex wants, that’s what Bex gets.”   
  
“Great.  Now, you’re having the meatloaf, mashed, with a side of corn fritters. Right?”   
  
“Uh, sure, if that’s what you recommend -“   
  
“It’s what you need.  Good old comfort food.  With warm tapioca pudding right out of the pot for dessert, along with a big slab of blueberry pie.  And then I’m teaching you how to make the perfect grilled cheese. Y’gotta start learning to cook sometime, might as well start with that.”   
  
&&&   
  
That night, lying in his all too comfortable bed, staring at the shadows dancing across his ceiling, Bucky felt tired down to his soul.  Everything about Hawthorne Village and Stark Industries was beyond his wildest imaginings. It all felt like it had all been made just for them, a magical place where he and Becca could finally rest and find the place where they belonged.  Where they could thrive.    
  
And yet.   
  
It was all too perfect, and yet not nearly good enough.  It might have been ten years, but the wound was still as raw as it had been in those first moments.  He missed his parents. He missed his old life. But most of all, he still missed him. He might pretend that time had made the ache dull to something he could forget, but that would never be true.  He would never stop missing him, like a limb lost and yet still there, a phantom pain.   
  
He would have loved this odd little town, with its open arms and quirky charms.  He’d have loved the play of light and shadow on the ceiling, the way the tree branches looked like hands and arms dancing in the moonlight.  He’d have loved the classic New England architecture and the landscaping, the little shops and the wide variety of restaurants. He would even have loved Tony Stark, with his crazy generosity and his even greater kindness.   
  
And Bucky?  Bucky still loved him.  Even though he never knew.   
  
&&&   
  
The following morning, Bucky made a stab at mastering the SI coffee maker, followed directions on a box of waffle mix and braved the superhero waffle iron (also designed by SI), rummaged the SI fridge until he found a tray of gorgeous cut fruit, and beamed at Becca when she tucked into the breakfast he’d made with his own two hands and an array of Stark tech.   
  
“I could get used to waffles every morning,” Becca announced around a mouthful of maple syrup and butter drenched waffle.  “So do I call you Mom or Wifey now?”   
  
“Neither.  We’re eschewing heteronormative labels.  I was the first one up, ergo, I made breakfast.”   
  
“Ergo, I’m gonna make sure you’re always up first,” Becca replied with a grin.  “Can we go exploring today?”   
  
“Yeah, I think that would be a good idea.  Get a feel for the place. Let’s go by foot - car won’t do us any good in the town center anyway.”   
  
“Sure you can walk that far?”   
  
“Hey, I was running the streets of Brooklyn before you were born.”   
  
“Yeah, but you’ve been driving a car in Cali the past what - almost ten years.  Since ... yeah, almost ten years,” she corrected herself, but not before he saw a wash of sadness mar her features.   
  
“Yeah, well, I’m here now.  And we’re gonna make the most of the opportunities that come our way, right?”   
  
“Is he for real?”   
  
“Who?”   
  
“Tony Stark.  He told me I have a full ride scholarship to college.  Any college.”   
  
“And an internship if you want it.  Paid, even. Yeah. I don’t know if he does it so people won’t think about leaving, or if he’s just that generous, but if this job works out, we’re made for life.”   
  
“Any reason to think it won’t?  Work out, I mean.”   
  
“Not really.  I started looking at the project specs last night.  It’s exciting stuff, cutting edge. Prosthetics. My work to date fits right in.  He’s trying to find a way to build realistic and fully functional and responsive artificial limbs at an affordable price.  The team’s been working with vets, amputees, folks born with missing or non-functional limbs. Half the development team is also field testing various prototypes.  They’re taking replacement limbs and making them better than the ‘real thing’.”   
  
“Lasers?”   
  
“Um, I don’t think so, kiddo.”   
  
“Oooh. Like a built-in Swiss Army knife?”   
  
“No.”   
  
“I got it.  Vibrator. That would make an artificial limb better.  Way better.”   
  
“No!  And ew.  I don’t wanna know you know what sex is!”   
  
“Buck, you’re gonna have to give me the sex talk,” Becca said, her face and demeanor suddenly serious.   
  
“What?”   
  
“Mom didn’t get around to it -“   
  
“Don’t they teach that in high school?”   
  
“I haven’t had that course yet -“   
  
“But -“   
  
“Yeah, it’s gotta be done.  And you’re gonna have to do it.”   
  
“No -“   
  
Abruptly, Becca’s serious facade shattered, and she practically cackled her delight.  “Oh. My. God! Your face! Just how would a gay man tell a presumably straight CIS white female about sex?”   
  
“I’d ask Nat to tell me what book to give you, and then have it downloaded to your StarkPad.”   
  
She giggled at that, then stopped to tilt her head as she looked at him.  “My what?”   
  
“Your StarkPad.  Oh yeah, forgot. Maria gave me a StarkPad and StarkPhone for you.  Apparently all family members get fitted out with the latest StarkTech.”  He got up and went over to retrieve the box Maria had handed him on his way out of her office last night.  He pulled out the two devices and handed them to Becca. “All yours.”   
  
“You’re absolutely sure you didn’t have to sign a contract in blood, brother?  This isn’t how normal companies work, is it?”   
  
“Nope.  But apparently it’s how Tony Stark works.”   
  
“Geeze, Buck.  Starting to feel like Alice.  Or a Disney princess.”   
  
“Yeah, me, too.  But everything I’ve found on the net says this is legit - this is the way Tony Stark runs his company.  I still can’t believe they picked me, but hey - this is the kind of research I love, that I’ve been hoping to expand.  It’s what I dreamed of.”   
  
Becca’s expression softened, and she leaned forward, placing her hand over Bucky’s.  “He would’a been proud of you, Buck. No matter what. But this, now? He’d’a been over the moon.”  And then she clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide in panic and mortification. “Buck, I’m sorry -“   
  
For ten years, it had been an unspoken rule among them, with their folks, with Becca.  No one talked about him. Everyone shied away from mentioning the boy that had stolen Bucky’s heart when he was barely old enough to remember.  Everyone remained silent to protect Bucky from reminders, and the pain they brought.   
  
He smiled softly, running his thumb back and forth over the edge of her hand.  “It’s okay. I’ve never forgotten him. I think about him every day. It’s kind of nice to hear someone else remembers him, too.”   
  
“Oh, God, Buck!  None of us ever forgot him!  But you were so sad when he died ... none of us wanted to add to that.  Ma said ... Ma said it would be easier on you if we didn’t bring him up.  And then you left. It just got harder to mention him after that.”   
  
“I know.  I thought that’s what I wanted - to forget.  But then I realized that wasn’t fair to him. He didn’t deserve to be forgotten.  I just had to get to the point where remembering him didn’t hurt so bad.”   
  
“And have you?”   
  
Her face was full of empathy, of caring and love.  He squeezed her hand and smiled. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”   
  
&&&   
  
“Downtown” Hawthorne Village on a weekday afternoon in August was about as busy as it got in the little town.  Tourists, many of them day trippers from Boston, New Hampshire, even as far away as Maine and New York, wandered the streets and narrow alleyways in search of artistic bargains and arcane surprises.   
  
As they wandered hand in hand through the central shopping district, Bucky noticed that for every tourist trap shop, there was another that catered to the serious shopper.  For such a small place, Hawthorne Village boasted not one, not two, but three different bookstores, each of them a niche seller whose clientele was refined and limited. Then there was the ephemera shop, and on the main drag, the comic store.  It was unusual to see so much paper in the modern age, when so much had become digitized and delivered seamlessly to tablets and phones. It was kind of reassuring and comforting to know there was still a place in the world not just for the written word, but for the paper it was printed on.   
  
There were a number of arty shops featuring sculpture, jewelry, art, pottery, even candles and wax replicas of various people and objects.  They were on their way toward something that smelled amazing when Bucky glanced into the window of one of the art shops and felt his whole body lock up.   
  
“Buck?” Becca asked, squeezing his bicep a little to get his attention.     
  
“Do you remember his art?” he asked softly.   
  
“His art?  Oh my God, yes.  He was so talented.  Ma always said he was going places.  You know she kept every doodle he ever did for her?  They’re all in one of the scrapbooks I brought with me.”   
  
He turned to her then, a simple swivel of his head.  “Really?”   
  
“I figured I’d share it with you if you, you know.  Wanted to see it.”   
  
“I would.  I do. But look at that,” he commanded, pointing to the piece prominently displayed in the window.   
  
“That” was a painting of the view of Manhattan from Brooklyn.  From Prospect Park, to be exact. Bucky recognized the vantage point as the place he used to play frisbee with friends while his friend watched from a blanket on the grass.   
  
“‘The Promised Land’,” Becca read off the metal placard screwed into the frame.  “It doesn’t say who the artist is. You don’t think -“   
  
“Nah, of course not.  It’s a coincidence. Somebody else has a similar style, and it just looks like his because of the subject matter.  And we’ve been talking about him, so he’s fresh in our minds.”   
  
“Yeah, of course that’s it.  But you know ...”   
  
“Hmm?”   
  
“We could use some art in the house.  And you said you have that card you’re supposed to use for furnishings and stuff ...”   
  
Bucky glanced back at the painting, and felt an overwhelming wave of grief and longing wash over him.  Underneath it, though, was an incredible sense of love. He’d never before felt such strong emotions from an image, not even his friend’s art.  And he did remember having visceral reactions to some of his work, stronger than he would have expected. But this ... he staggered a little under the onslaught, and Becca wrapped both arms around his.     
  
“Or not.  Sorry, Buck, I didn’t mean to upset you -“   
  
“You didn’t.  It’s just ... it’s so much like his style.  And we went there all the time. I ... lemme think about it, huh?  I think I really want it, but I don’t know if I could really take looking at it all the time, y’know?”   
  
“Did he know?”Becca sighed out, her head tilted as she looked at him with compassion and curiosity.   
  
“Know what?”    
  
“How much you loved him.  That you were in love with him.”   
  
Bucky blinked a couple of times as he let his gaze fall toward the ground.  He was quiet for a long moment, and then he shook his head. “I never had the chance to tell him.  I wanted to, but then he got so sick. I just wanted him to focus on getting stronger, on getting better.  And then there was no time left.”   
  
Becca unwound her arms and touched a hand to his face gently.  “He never knew how lucky he was, but he was truly lucky to be loved by you,” she said softly, and raised up on tiptoe to kiss him gently on the cheek.   
  
&&&   
  
They enjoyed an excellent lunch at Fury’s, an upscale bistro that came complete with striped awnings and wrought iron seating arranged artfully on the broad pavement in front of the building.  The wait staff all wore crisp white pleated shirts, cute little bow ties, and black slacks, capped off by little white aprons tied at their backs. They did a brisk business, catering to tourists and locals alike.     
  
While they were eating, a tall, broad-shouldered man with an eyepatch came over to greet them.  “Welcome to Fury’s. You’re new in town,” he said, flashing a smile that seemed to have too many teeth.   
  
“Um, yeah.  Just got here yesterday.”   
  
“You’ll be working for Stark.  Good man,” Fury nodded, and Bucky felt oddly like he’d just been awarded a prize.  “You should check out Erskine’s next. Their coffee selection is excellent, and they serve the best baked goods in the village.”   
  
“Um, thanks.  I don’t know where we’re gonna put anything more after this meal, though.”   
  
“Later.  You should check out Erskine’s later.  You won’t regret it. But you should really check it out today.”   
  
“Okay.  Any other recommendations?  We don’t have to do everything today, but we’re enjoying getting to know the town.”   
  
“Village.  We’re a village.  And I can’t think of any place I wouldn’t recommend.  Oh, except for that tacky place that just opened up over on Excelsior.  Guy’s an outsider, a poser. Won’t last.”   
  
“What kind of shop?”   
  
“Magic.  All fake.  Guy’s a wannabe.  Name of Hammer, Justin Hammer.  He’s a snake oil salesman. You want the genuine article, Erskine’s your man.”   
  
“Magic?” Becca perked up.  “What, like Wicca?”   
  
“Maybe,” Fury answered, smiling at her.  “That something you’re into?”   
  
“I’m interested, yeah.  But how does a coffee shop specialize in magic?”   
  
“Erskine’s Apothecary and Emporium.  Oldest business in Hawthorne Village.  Legend has it it was founded by Abraham’s great-great-grandmother.  Brought all kinds of interesting stuff over from the old country. He does a little bit of this, a little bit of that.  You’ll find what you’re looking for, even if you didn’t know you were looking for it,” he added, glancing at each of them in turn, but he held Bucky’s gaze a beat or two too long.   
  
“Um, yeah, okay,” Bucky agreed, but he was confused and a little unsettled.  Fury was kind of weird, and it seemed like he was having a completely different conversation from the one that Bucky was participating in.  But Becca seemed at ease, and enthusiastically engaged Fury in further conversation about shops to visit. Finally, he seemed to remember he had a business to run, and excused himself with a smile.   
  
“I’ve got my eye on you, Barnes,” he added with a grin, and turned away.   
  
“Wow,” Becca breathed after he’d gone.   
  
“Wow?  He’s your new best friend.”   
  
“He’s intense!  But cool. This is a cool place, Buck.  I think we could be happy here.”   
  
“I’m glad.  ‘Cos we’re kinda stuck, at least for a while.  So how about we walk off this excellent lunch, huh?”   
  
&&&   
  
Becca kept glancing toward Bucky, and it was starting to make him itch all over.  He knew she was trying to keep a lid on it, but at the same time he could feel her increasing impatience to check out the shop Fury had recommended.  Finally, he relented, grinning at the way she literally jumped up and down in place. “Okay, let’s go.”   
  
Erskine’s Apothecary and Emporium occupied an entire building sitting on its own block, a bit of garden on one side, and on the other facing toward the village center, a little park complete with benches, birdbath, and gazebo.  It sat just off the beaten path on an old side street whose surface was still polished cobblestone. An iron hitching post anchored one corner, while a wrought iron lamppost stood sentinel at the other. The building itself was more of that Massachusetts granite, old but beautifully maintained and pointed.  It looked like it had sat on this spot for centuries, and Bucky wasn’t surprised to find the year 1630 graven in the foundation stone, worn smooth over time. Obviously the building had been expanded and augmented over the centuries, but it clearly had its roots in the distant past even as parts of it were thoroughly grounded in the present, even reaching into the future.  Broad bay windows punctuated the facade, and as they strolled down the street to the entrance, they could see little vignettes of shelving, books, artifacts, and a gleaming coffee bar and pastry case.    
  
They were nearly to the entrance when Bucky spied him, a beautiful young man with hair the color of wheat, broad-shouldered and tall, with a slender waist that tapered to long, powerful legs.  There was something about him that caught at Bucky’s chest, making his breath stutter and his heart ache.   
  
No one had made him feel that way in the past ten years.  Only one person had ever triggered such a sensation, and it made him feel dizzy, disoriented.  Guilty, like he’d betrayed that person, and his most cherished memories.   
  
Then the young man looked up, and Bucky felt the world twist sideways.   
  
He knew those blue eyes.   
  
He’d fantasized about those plush pink lips.   
  
He’d held ice to that nose the first time it had been broken.  And the second, and the third, and many more.   
  
Becca looked to him and then to the window where the beautiful man stood up and stepped away from the display of teas he’d been arranging.  He seemed drawn to Bucky just as Bucky felt the tug toward him.   
  
“Steve?” Bucky breathed, feeling his heart shatter and his sanity splinter.   
  
But then he saw those beautiful lips frame, “Bucky?” before his blue eyes widened in horror, and he ran away to somewhere inside the building.     
  
Without thinking, Bucky took off in pursuit.   
  
&&&   
  
“Steven!” Dr. Abraham Erskine called urgently at Steven Grant Rogers as he sprinted across the Emporium.   
  
“Not now, Abraham!” Steven called over his shoulder as he skidded around a display of locally crafted teapots.  Fortunately, no crockery was damaged, but Steven did not slow down.   
  
Abraham wasn’t having it. The Emporium was not a place for hooliganism or nonsense.  He stepped into the walkway and tried to block Steve’s escape. “Yes, now, Steven. Halt!”   
  
Steven was practically dancing in place as he protested, “He’s gonna see me, Abraham - he’s gonna know!”   
  
With a small gesture with his fingers, Abraham shook his head.  “Not now he cannot.” He placed a steadying hand on Steven’s shoulder as he looked at him critically.  Steven straightened, his face pinched with worry. He hadn’t really calmed, but at least he was now still.  He wasn’t threatening customers or crockery with his bulk.    
  
Abraham smiled gently at him.  He wouldn’t be able to contain him for long, he knew.  And the time was not yet ripe. “All right, Steven. Go to the still room.  I will head him off. But we will be discussing this later. As in very, very soon.  Now, go.”   
  
“Thanks, Abraham, you’re the best!” Steve squeaked as he took off for the still room located below the shop.   
  
Abraham chuckled to himself, then lifted the dimensional bubble to attend to the dark-haired fellow pelting his way through the Emporium.  “Young man!” he admonished. “We do not run helter skelter through retail establishments here in Hawthorne Village!”   
  
“But Steve -“   
  
“Hmm.  Come, let us discuss this over a nice cup of tea, shall we?”   
  
“Um -“   
  
Abraham smiled his best fatherly smile at the nice young man who craned frantically in search of Steven. Abraham laid his hand on the other’s shoulder, and nudged him in the direction of the coffee and tea bar at the center of the Emporium.   
  
He went ahead meekly, but Abraham could see him darting glances over his shoulder toward where Steven had disappeared moments before. It wasn’t a far distance, but Abraham guided him around displays and down aisles so he’d have a chance to assess, to study.   
  
Of course, he knew who the young man was.  Steven’s Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes. Bioengineer.  Newly hired by Stark Industries. The wonders this Bucky would create.  The pain this Bucky had endured.   
  
Finally, they came around to the coffee and tea bar at the center of the Emporium.  A few patrons lingered around the bar, sipping at their drinks, nibbling at their treats, assisted by his other protege, Peter Parker.  An enthusiastic and sweet boy, Peter also had a flair for creating delectable concoctions, and the bar was often full during his scheduled hours after school.  He, too, was also a brilliant scientist, still young, with so many even more brilliant inventions in his future. But for now, he was a high school student with a summer job, one he did well.   
  
Abraham waved Bucky onto a seat at the end of the curved bar, and slipped behind the bar to eye him more closely.   
  
He was still twitching toward where Steven had exited to the lower level, and Abraham wondered if perhaps this Bucky of Steven’s had even more ability than he’d originally guessed.     
  
“Why do you think my assistant is this Steve?” he asked quietly, deliberately pitching his voice to not be heard.  Peter’s senses were enhanced, and he of course could hear. He reacted to Abraham’s question, but a subtle hand gesture told him to stand down.   
  
He knew that his question appeared simple, when in fact it was quite complex.  In the reality that this Bucky occupied, Steven Rogers had died. A horrible, wasting death, soul-crushing to the people who loved him.  From the looks of things, who loved him still.   
  
It was then that Abraham noticed a teenaged girl bearing a marked resemblance to Steven’s Bucky, approaching him warily.  He smiled at her, the smile he reserved to calm nerves and banish fears. He threaded a bit of suggestion into the smile, nothing overt, just something to help her feel at ease, to trust him.  He nodded toward Peter, and she seemed to understand, as she moved to take a seat in Peter’s orbit, all the while glancing toward Bucky, a worried furrow between her eyebrows.   
  
Then Abraham settled his attention back on Bucky, who still had not answered.  He sighed. “This Steve person - he means a great deal to you, yes?” he asked as he began to prepare something for Bucky to drink.   
  
This was a simpler question, and yet more painful.  “Yes,” Bucky answered, and there was pain on the surface, pain in his memory, and pain deep inside his soul.  This was a boy wounded by loss, and now the unexpected sight of Steven had opened that wound once more.   
  
“But you have lost him.  Misplaced him, perhaps?”   
  
“He, um ... he died.”   
  
“Yet you think my assistant might be him?  I do not mean to cause you pain, but your friend - you saw him?  Dead, I mean?”   
  
“I held his hand as he passed.  I organized his funeral. I picked out the clothes he was buried in.  I -“ he covered his mouth with his hand, a desperate sob escaping before he could silence it with his palm.   
  
“Then how could it be possible that the boy who works for me could be your lost friend, hmm?” he asked gently.  The brew was nearly ready, and he watched the water turn a rosy red, then deepen in color as the tea and herbs boiled.  He added a little it extra, something to calm, to fortify. Finally, he deemed it ready, and poured some into a mug and slid it across the counter.  “Drink.”   
  
“What is this?”   
  
“Tea, of course.  This is, among other things, a tea shop.  And a coffee shop. And an all things I care to sell shop.  But I do not think it is a reincarnation shop.”   
  
“He recognized me. He said my name.”  Bucky took a sip of the tea, and his eyebrows elevated in appreciation.  The tea would do him good, would settle his nerves and give him something neutral to focus on.  Abraham was pleased to see it was already working.   
  
“Could that not have been wishful thinking, perhaps?  When a man dies, does his soul really move to a tea and coffee shop for eternity?  That seems a terrible waste of a perfectly good soul.”   
  
Bucky wrapped his hands around the mug and stared at the steam wafting gently.  He seemed to consider the possibility - for the truth was far too fanciful for a rational person to believe - and then he shook his head.  “I don’t go around seeing him at every corner. I’ve never imagined I saw him before. I recognized his eyes - I could never forget them. And his lips -“   
  
“Ah.  This boy you lost.  He was more than a friend, perhaps?”   
  
“He was my best friend.  The most important person in the world to me.”   
  
“And is he still?”   
  
“Always. We promised til the end of the line.  The line didn’t end just because he ... because he died.”   
  
“Hmmm.  Drink up.  These are not the imaginings I would expect from the newest engineer hired by Stark Industries.”   
  
“How do you know that?”   
  
“Hawthorne Village is essentially a company town for Stark Industries.  Plus, I am on the selection board. I chose you, Dr. Barnes.”   
  
“Oh my God.  You’re Dr. Abraham Erskine!  I didn’t make the connection before.  Your work in cellular regeneration -“   
  
“May well reduce the chance of rejection with your prosthesis.  Yes. We will be working together, I think. So, finish your tea.  And come back tomorrow.”   
  
“Steve -“   
  
“Come back tomorrow.”   
  
&&&   
  
Abraham allowed Peter to take care of closing the shop, and after he’d gone, he made his way down to the still room where Steven was working on decanting and bottling some of the infusions and decoctions.  He knew that his protege wouldn’t just cower in the dark - Steven would always find a way to make himself useful.   
  
So Abraham made his way down the stairs and when he reached the concrete floor, he had to smile at the broad back and straight spine of the young man who tended his potions.  Steven had grown into a beautiful man, inside and out. Abraham knew that Steven was lonely, and he missed his old friends with a deep ache. But when Abraham had told him that for safety’s sake, he could have no contact with his old life, he’d accepted his fate.  But that didn’t mean that he didn’t think of it, long for it.   
  
“He’s gone?” Steven asked hollowly as he smoothed a label onto the bottle he’d just filled.   
  
“For now, yes.”   
  
Steven straightened then, and turned to face Abraham.  Abraham could see the mottled red blotches on his cheeks, the bloodshot eyes, the bitten lip.  Steven had been crying while Abraham had chatted with his Bucky. He hoped the sadness hadn’t leaked into the preparations.   
  
“What does that mean?”   
  
“It means that fate has brought this Bucky back into your life.  Perhaps it will give you a second chance if you want it.”   
  
“A second chance?  How?”   
  
“Your old friend starts work for Stark next week.  He is a very talented, very bright bioengineer.”   
  
“But that’s not enough to get him in at SI.  Not when Tony’s looking for people with more -“   
  
“And surprisingly, your old friend qualified.  He has the spark. And unlike you, Steven, the spark is not trapped.  Your Bucky will flourish here, I expect.”   
  
“Did you have anything to do with this?  With him getting hired?”   
  
“I did, yes.  Remember that I am on the selection committee.  He was on the list, but with everything that’s happened recently in his life, it seemed appropriate to accelerate his acquisition.  The time was ripe for him to commit to a new path. Plus, he was in New York nad available for an interview.”   
  
“What’s happened?”   
  
“He is now guardian of his younger sister.  Their parents died recently.”   
  
“Winnie and George?  Oh,” Steven said, leaning heavily on his fists atop the work surface.  “Oh, God. Poor Buck. Becca?”   
  
“She is here as well.  She will do well at Stark, too.  It seems the Barnes family has a surprising well of power.  And since he is now part of the family, as it were ...”    
  
“But you said - “   
  
“I did, yes.”   
  
“So does that mean -“   
  
“It means that you have another chance, Steven.  You may use it however you choose.”    
  
“But what do I say?”   
  
“You must always speak the truth.  Whatever that may be. Always, always speak from the heart.  Also, he is coming back tomorrow. So you have until then to figure it out.”   
  
&&&   
  
Bucky was here.   
  
Bucky was here, in Hawthorne Village.  And Abraham said ...   
  
Steve shook his head.  He’d already been gifted with one miracle.  How selfish of him to think there might be another.   
  
And yet.   
  
Steve couldn’t help but wonder.   
  
He remembered dying.  Remembered Bucky’s hand holding his, remembered his fingers gently smoothing his damp, rank hair back from his forehead.  He remembered whispered words that broke his heart and remade him, even as that heart failed him.   
  
He remembered wanting.  He remembered feeling the words bubbling up from the depth of his soul, the yes, and the I love you too, and the til the end of the line.  But the words wouldn’t come, because his lungs were failing, too, and the drugs kept him too far under to give voice to the words.   
  
And then he’d been free, free of the broken body with too many ailments and not enough strength to go on.  He’d been able to shout his joy and declare his love. But Bucky hadn’t been able to hear because Steve had died.  Steve shouted into the void, and the void returned silence.   
  
Steve had watched Bucky realize that he’d slipped away, watched his hand tighten around Steve’s limp, cooling hand, watched him fling himself across Steve’s still body, sobs wrenching, howling his grief.  The nurses and the crash cart had raced in, but it was too late. Steve Rogers had left the building, ladies and gentlemen. Steve had wanted to reach out, wanted to gather Bucky in his arms and tell him it was okay, but all Steve could do was watch.  And want.   
  
Time kind of did some funny things then, until he found himself in the cold, sterile morgue, watching an older man with round glasses and a goatee walk in with the morgue attendant.   
  
The older man set down a case on the table next to the place where Steve’s body lay.  From it, he extracted a huge, old-looking book and an odd looking pen, like something you’d buy at a ren faire.  Then he placed candles around the body, and as he lit each one, he spoke in a language that Steve had never heard before, yet somehow recognized.  He wrote in the book, and the words lifted into the air, burning with a blue flame unlike anything Steve had ever seen.   
  
A spell.  A spell not to raise the dead, but to free the soul.   
  
It hurt.  It hurt like nothing Steve had ever experienced in a life often defined by pain.   
  
And when it was done, he was lying on that cold metal table, blinking up into kind eyes wreathed in smile lines.  “Welcome back, Steven,” the man had said then. “Come. Your new life awaits.”   
  
In the weeks to come, Steve would learn that his savior, Dr. Abraham Erskine, was a member of a community of magic folk, not witches or wizards or sorcerers like in the books and movies, but people who held the spark, who recognized it in each other, and who came together to build the spark into goodness in the world.  There were many such communities around the world, but Steve found himself in Hawthorne Village, in the circle of Stark Industries and its master magicians.   
  
Abraham had extracted his spark from where it had been trapped in his dying body, and let it grow into the tall, healthy body that Steve had today.  Left behind was the tiny, damaged husk, a body he no longer needed, so there had been no question about what had happened to Steve Rogers. His old body had been embalmed and buried, Bucky and his friends had the chance to mourn him, and Steve had learned to live a new life, a satisfying life in many ways, a lonely life in others.   
  
Abraham had told him he’d been following Steve for a long time, knowing that Sarah Rogers had come from an ancient lineage.  Steve learned that Ma had had a great spirit, but the spark in her had been small, and it had been feared that the spark had died out in her line.  Steve had shown no evidence of the spark, except in his art. Abraham had come to a gallery showing of Steve’s paintings, and he’d seen it in the first glance, felt the magic with which each piece had been imbued.  Steve had the gift, but it had been locked inside the damage and strain on Steve’s body.   
  
It had taken Steve’s death and a kind of reboot to free it. Now Steve was healthy and full of power.   
  
Still lonely, but healthy.  Alone, but with a spark of surprising intensity.   
  
But now, Bucky was here.  And Bucky had seen him in his new body, and Bucky recognized him.  And he’d run after him.   
  
Like maybe he still wanted to know him.   
  
But did he still love him?   
  
It had been ten years.   
  
Could Steve dare to hope for another miracle?   
  
Damn if he didn’t.   
  
&&&   
  
They were sitting at their dining room table - a phrase both of them were still grappling with - picking at the remains of dinner a la takeout from an amazing Indian place they’d found on one of the side streets.  Dusk was a memory, and the glow of the day had died off to leave the sky a velvet dark, spattered with more stars than either of them had ever seen in the light polluted skies over New York.   
  
“Bucky, it couldn’t have been him.  You know it couldn’t. You were there when he died -“   
  
“You don’t have to remind me.  I keep reliving that day. Ever damned day for the past ten years.  But Bex - I swear to you, it was him. He recognized me, he said my name -“   
  
“How?  How could a dead man rise, Buck?  This isn’t some movie where the mad scientist raises an army of the undead -“   
  
The doorbell rang just then, silencing them both into a wary, brittle quiet.  Rational thought gave way to atavistic fear, years of horror movies suddenly possible in a world where they were seriously discussing Steve Rogers rising from the grave in a new body.   
  
“You don’t think ...?” Becca mouthed at Bucky, and he shrugged, eyes widening.  He held up his hand to her, and rose from the dinner table to answer the door. Every nerve in his body was screaming an alert, but there was an odd calm at the center of his emotional storm.   
  
A certainty that amazed yet comforted him.   
  
And when he opened the door, he wasn’t surprised to see Steve Rogers 2.0 standing there, hands clasped nervously at his waist, expression contrite.   
  
“Heya, Buck,” he greeted, and Bucky felt a shock of recognition blast through him at the sound of that treasured voice.  He nearly dropped to his knees, and gripped the doorknob tightly so he wouldn’t fall. “Guess you’re wonderin’ how I got here, huh?”   
  
Bucky could feel Becca’s trembling approach as she inched closer to the open door.  Her hands were shaking as they closed around Bucky’s bicep. She pressed against his back, practically laying her head on his shoulder.  “You can’t be ...” she breathed, her voice both awed and fearful. She’d only caught a glimpse of Steve at the Emporium, and Bucky knew she hadn’t been entirely convinced that Bucky wasn’t seeing things.  Wasn’t losing it a little.   
  
“Hey, Bex.  You sure have grown.  You’re beautiful, but I always knew you’d be,” Steve 2.0 said then, smiling that aw-shucks smile that had gotten him out of detention more times than any teacher had been willing to admit.     
  
Bucky was torn between hauling him into the house to kiss him soundly, and slamming the door in his face so he wouldn’t have to deal with the complicated emotional soup that was his feelings.   
  
He chose to do the impossible then.  Rather than kiss or slam, he opted instead to calmly step aside, nudge Becca backward out of the way, and waved Steve into the house.   
  
If he was a vampire or some other malevolent creature, he’d just invited him into their home, and they’d die a horrible death because of his stupidity.   
  
But Bucky knew in the depths of his soul that this was Steve.  His Steve. And he knew that was impossible, too, but it didn’t matter - it was still true. And he owed it to nobody but himself to find out what was going on.   
  
“Are you going to eat us?” Becca asked in a small, terrified voice.   
  
Steve 2.0 blinked and barked a surprised chuckle.  “Eat you? Ew, no! Why would I eat you?”   
  
“You’re not a zombie?”   
  
“Not as far as I know.”   
  
“Then how are you here?  How are you not dead?”   
  
“It’s a long story.  Abraham says I can tell you the truth now, and I’d like to.  Y’gotta know I never woulda kept this a secret if I didn’t hafta.  Buck - Buck, I heard you. When I was dyin’ - I heard you.”   
  
&&&   
  
Steve recounted the story of his death and resurrection, the warnings Abraham had given, and the life Steve had built here in Hawthorne Village.   
  
“Wait, you work for Stark, too?” Bucky asked.   
  
“Pretty much everyone who lives in Hawthorne Village works for Stark Industries in some capacity, or they support those who do.  But yeah, I do art, for product brochures, presentations. I do private commissions, but I also do a lot for Tony and Pepper personally.”   
  
Becca leaned forward and said, “Then how did that piece get into the gallery -“   
  
“Pepper said it was too personal,” Steve answered sheepishly.  “See, that’s how Abraham found me - the magical energy in my art.  And when I painted that, well, I couldn’t help but remember those times in the park with you, how that made me feel.  How you made me feel,” he added, ducking his head shyly. Then he continued with a nod, more to himself than to anyone else in the room. “Pepper said that painting was meant for one person, but it wasn’t meant for her.”   
  
Becca rapped that back of her knuckles against Bucky’s pec, giving him a meaningful look.  They were seated side by side on the couch, facing Steve, who occupied the other couch set at an angle from the first.   
  
Steve looked at Bucky then, his face open and vulnerable.  “Buck?” he asked softly.   
  
“I felt something looking at it.  ‘The Promised Land’. Like I couldn’t look away, like it was important -“   
  
“I thought of you every minute I worked on it.  Abraham says that my emotions leak into what I’m working on if I’m not careful.  Not just the magical energy, but the actual emotions I’m feeling at the time. But I didn’t leak - I poured when I was painting that.”   
  
“Poured what?”   
  
“My love for you, Buck.  But when it was finished, and Pepper didn’t want it, it was too painful to keep around, so I handed it off to the gallery.  They say that people look at it, but they can’t keep their eyes on it for long - they get the sense of looking at something too personal, too painful.”   
  
Becca stood suddenly, smiling down at both Bucky and Steve.  “You two have a lot to talk about. A lot of personal shit to work out.  So I’m gonna leave you to it. Steve, I’m really glad you’re not dead. This is weird as shit, but I’m glad.”   
  
Steve rose to his feet and shuffled awkwardly.  Then he just shrugged and surged forward to catch Becca in a hug.  She clung to him fiercely, and only let go when he dropped a kiss on the top of her head.  “Missed you, kiddo.”   
  
She smacked him on the arm, laughing lightly.  “Missed you, too, Steve. Now kiss my brother and put yourselves out of my misery.  I’ve had enough pine to last me a lifetime or two.” Becca stuck out her tongue at Bucky, his face a bright red and his eyes wide as he sat in place on the couch.  Then she smiled and hurried away.   
  
Steve turned to Bucky then, his expression hopeful.  “Whaddya think, Buck?”   
  
“About what?  You suddenly being alive all this time while I mourned?  While I couldn’t start over, no matter who I met? I’ve been only half alive the past ten years without you, Steve.  And what do I tell my friends, huh? Oh him? Yeah, he was dead but he got better.” Bucky dragged his fingers through his hair, paused to grip and pull.  “Shit, Nat and Clint are coming to visit next month. They’re my best friends, they got me through the past ten years, Steve. Do I have to give them up to have you?”   
  
Steve’s light was dimming; Bucky’s outburst had hit home, it was clear.  But everything Bucky said was true. As much as he still wanted to pull Steve into his arms and never let him go, the fact that he’d been left to mourn, to believe that Steve was gone, for ten long years hurt.   
  
“Do you want me?” Steve asked in a low voice, barely more than a whisper. Bucky looked up at him then, looked into his eyes, and saw the hope there beginning to die.   
  
What had happened had been done to them both.  He didn’t have to punish Steve for the pain he’d endured.  He smiled gently, and watched Steve come to life yet again right in front of him.   
  
“Steve, I don’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t love you.  I’ve always wanted you. I was gonna tell you, but then you got so sick -“   
  
“I told you, Buck - I heard you.  You did tell me. Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done - harder than dying - especially when I knew how you felt.  I tried to tell you that I loved you back, but I couldn’t reach you, couldn’t make myself heard. But I did love you. I do love you.  Abraham told me I couldn’t stay, and I couldn’t tell you what happened for your own safety.”   
  
“My safety?  How does knowing you’re alive put me in danger?”   
  
“I don’t know the specifics.  But he always talked about how if certain people found out how I’d survived, there could be consequences, to me and to anyone who knew me.  He used the words dissection and detention more than once.”   
  
“And now?  What’s changed?  How can you tell me now?  Is Becca in any kind of danger -“   
  
“You’re here.  In Hawthorne Village.  You were hired by Stark.  You have the spark, too. So does Becca.  So I don’t have to hide myself from you. And we’re protected by the community.  But your friends -“   
  
“Your Abraham told me to come back tomorrow.  He and I are gonna have a talk. This is bullshit.  He never shoulda kept us apart. But now that we’re together again, he’s not gonna punish the people who got me through losing you.”   
  
“Are we?  Are we together?” Steve asked in a small, almost frightened voice.   
  
Bucky stood then, crossed the unfathomable distance between them, and reached for Steve’s hand.  The current that leapt from Steve to Bucky didn’t surprise him somehow. It seemed right that they were more than flesh and blood, that they were somehow more together than they were apart.  He felt the colors of Steve’s soul reach out to his, curling around him, cradling him, creating new colors and new forms as they greeted each other in some wild, magic-swept plane. Steve’s eyes were just as wide as he knew his to be, caught up in the delicate ballet of energies. He smiled as laced their fingers together, staring into Steve’s eyes.  He saw galaxies and nebulae spiraling there, drawing him into an eternal dance.   
  
Then he did one more impossible thing that day.     
  
Bucky Barnes kissed Steve Rogers for the very first time.   
  
It would not be their last.   
  
Years of longing, years of loneliness, years of mourning, years of sadness.  They all came to an end with the first press of their lips, Bucky’s hand tightening around Steve’s, their fingers energies entwining, mingling, becoming something new and epically beautiful.  Steve reached out with a trembling hand to touch Bucky’s cheek, thumb tracing gently over his cheekbone, palm resting warm and solid and real against Bucky’s jaw. Bucky could feel the warmth of tears running down his face, could taste the salt of Steve’s own tears on his lips.   
  
Every nerve in Bucky’s body tingled, with warmth, with desire, with life.  With creation. He felt light pressing against his eyelids, and reluctantly opened his eyes, only to gasp not from kisses, but from the swirl of light rising around them.  As they’d kissed, they’d lifted off from the floor, and now rotated slowly on the axis that was their enduring love for each other. The universe embraced them with a galaxy of tiny stars orbiting the galactic center that was SteveandBucky, reunited at last. Stars didn’t just glitter in Steve’s eyes, but surrounded them, buoyed them, and created a tiny pocket universe just for them.   
  
Bucky smiled into the next kiss, eager to discover what new magic it might bring.   
  
END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again to kiaraaine and their generous donation to the Center for Public Integrity. Please consider donating as well - https://publicintegrity.org/.
> 
> And there will be more to come in this universe. I already have a sequel mapped out that takes the boys on a journey of social justice in the magical world.
> 
> In the meantime, remember that kudos, bookmarks, and especially comments are the light in my darkness!


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